


The Orchard

by ArgentNoelle



Series: Crossroads (Black Butler SPN 'verse) [3]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Ciel Phantomhive, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Ciel Phantomhive, Childhood Trauma, Gen, Monster of the Week, POV Ciel Phantomhive, Poor Ciel Phantomhive, fusion with SPN episode "Scarecrow"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentNoelle/pseuds/ArgentNoelle
Summary: April, 1886. Ciel and Sebastian are sent to investigate a mysterious pattern of disappearances in a small town. One thing is clear: it has something to do with the apple orchard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place soon after the contract started. Ciel is 10 years old. SPOILERS for mangaverse.

_April, 1886_

* * *

 

The air was crisp with the bite of winter that hadn't yet lost its grip entirely, and the slight breeze twirled its way across the yellowed grass as the dog-cart jostled over the packed dirt road, bumping from lump to pothole and rattling the teeth of the aristocratic child who sat perched up front, trying hard to maintain an air of haughty indifference to the surroundings. In fact, all he managed was to look both bored and slightly pained—but perhaps the difference there was slight. The child watched the surroundings fall away behind them as they passed through the countryside; dry-stone walls running back at perpendicular angles, sheep standing in fluffy, black-legged clumps in the fields, and here and there, the lone farmhouse with its hint of grayish smoke rising from a chimney as though to call to mind the warmth of a fire. It wasn't still cold enough for winter coat or blanket, but the child known as Ciel Phantomhive was glad for the gloves on his hands. He smelled like the outdoors—air and dirt and grass, woolen coat and cart planks, smoothed and splintered by the years, and underneath that the hint, still, of infancy; that child-smell that reminded one that this boy, watching the world with two cold blue eyes, was yet ten years old. His façade of indifference would dip toward truth as he stared with bored mien at the land around, and then a spike of adrenaline would hit and he would look toward his butler's unreadable back, the black overcoat and the black hair above it. He did not seem to notice that he did so; nor did the butler draw attention. It was only natural, after all, for one in the child's position to feel discomfited with what the butler was; what his instincts, not yet dulled into habituation, were telling him about the danger.

Ciel sighed deeply.

"Is something the matter, young master?"

"No," Ciel said. He fidgeted, and sighed again, resting his chin on his hand for a moment. Another jolt had him jerking his head back before he could accidentally knock himself on his own teeth, and he put his hand onto his lap.

"It would be a jolly time if this was all just some wild goose chase and not a case at all," Ciel continued, at last, in a scathing tone that made it quite clear that the way _he_ would think to describe it would be anything but jolly.

"There are the disappearances, my lord," Sebastian said.

"Pshaw!" Ciel waved a hand dismissively, though the butler, who was focused on guiding the horses, could not see the motion. "Coincidence."

"Do you really think so?" the butler replied, with evident amusement.

Ciel closed his eyes as he spoke, piecing together everything that they knew so far. "A small village of less than a hundred people; it's a prosperous village, for its size; its chief concerns are farming, and particularly, the apple orchards which are the pride of the place. The only peculiarity is the number of disappearances marked—and the regularity of it. All in April. The travelers who vanish are all adults, but there is no pattern to who disappears, nor is there a pattern to the years in which these disappearances take place. It seems like a superstition built on coincidence, to me. Of course, the discrepancy could account to lack of record—if some of the missing persons were never added to this tally, or if some locals, whose disappearances were covered up, were added to the toll, a pattern might emerge. Yes," Ciel admitted, at last, "it might indeed be a real case, but I can't help but feel like we've been thrown a scrap. If this 'issue' was not of enough account to send anyone to look at for so many years, why now? Nothing has changed; and no one has recently been reported as missing."

"Perhaps you might call it a 'test'," Sebastian responded. "If you do well here; if you in fact uncover something, it will do nothing but good for your reputation."

"Mm," Ciel replied. "'My reputation'—you speak as though I have one."

"Well, we all must start somewhere, musn't we?" Sebastian said. The bastard was quite too cheerful for his own good, Ciel thought—he could picture the smug smile on his face. Sebastian never did anything, in Ciel's opinion, that was not smug in one way or supercilious in another.

"Yes," Ciel said. "Well. I wonder if they make any good desserts with these famous apples." He looked ahead, and in a moment, round the bend, it appeared: the village unfolded itself from the ground that rose and dipped and rose again, as the cart rattled on. One moment, it was a glimpse in the distance; and only minutes later, it was standing beside the road with the shadow of the orchards a dull green behind it, hidden in a low-lying fog.

The cart drove up through the main road, which became wider and smoother as it passed between a cluster of buildings that served as the town proper. There was a small general store, in front of which they came to a stop, and Sebastian stepped down from the seat.

"Go in on your own and see what you can find out," Ciel said, meeting Sebastian's eyes. "I'll join you in a minute."

"As you wish," Sebastian replied. Ciel watched him walk into the building; the metal bell chiming as it opened. Ciel kicked his feet and looked around, waiting for the group of boys, hovering on the other side of the road, whispering and nudging each other as they glanced his way, to get up the courage to run over.

There were three of them, on closer look; two with hair the color of straw; all three with inquisitive brown eyes. They were simply dressed, but their clothing fit and was not overly patched, and though the winter had been hard, none of them had the sallow cheeks that spoke of hunger. _Prosperous indeed_ , Ciel thought. They watched him with undisguised curiosity, and Ciel returned the perusal.

"You stayin' here long?" one asked—taller by the slightest margin; he was obviously the leader of the little group.

"No, just passing through."

The three boys looked at each other with what seemed both mischief and disappointment. "Aw," the smallest, dark-haired one replied.

"You traveling just wi' him?" The middle one garnered Ciel's attention: he was quieter than the other two, and didn't seem to be possessed of the same levity. Indeed, if Ciel had to place the look in his eyes, he would almost call it anger. _The question is_ , he thought, _is it a personal anger_?

"Yes." The answer didn't seem to appease the boy.

"You should stay here," the small one said, with a grin. "You could be my brother."

"Don't be forward with the stranger." The leader nudged his companion in the ribs, and he looked down, muttering.

"He could be, though. I like 'im."

Ciel looked away. For a moment, he forgot what he had been doing with this conversation. He looked toward the shop door and wished that Sebastian would come out. He could feel his own heart thumping under his skin, like a snare; fast and wild. Ice seemed to steal itself over his limbs and fog his breath. _Don't be so ridiculous_ , he thought. _Lots of people have brothers. This kid… is saying something a little odd, but there's no reason to_ — he looked down at the ring on his finger, heavy and shining over his thick glove. It steadied him. A moment later, his thoughts resumed. _No, that was definitely odd. Might it have meaning? These boys…_ he looked over at them. _They know something_. _The question is: what_?

"Hey—you okay?" It was the tallest one again. "Don't mind Tom, he can be a dummy sometimes."

"Am not!" Tom—the small one—retorted.

"No," Ciel replied. "I'm fine."

"Listen," the tall one said, with a smile. "If you two aren't in a hurry, you should stop by our house for dinner. Mum makes the best apple pie in the whole village," he boasted.

"Henry," Tom complained, "I wanted to invite him."

"Well you didn't, so suck it."

"I'll consider it," Ciel said. "Thanks." He looked back toward the store, and scrambled out of the cart. He stepped up the few steps to the door and glanced back, for a moment, seeing the three boys still crowded around and watching him. The horse flicked its ear and blew out a breath, and Ciel reached up on his toes to grab the door handle and push it open.

Inside, beyond the full-length window, everything was shadowed. There was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, but it wasn't on. The store smelled mustily of stuff: spices, fabric, flour, tools, all blending into one. Behind the counter at the very back of the store, the proprietor was explaining something to Sebastian, who had put on his best air of innocent curiosity.

"That your boy?" the man asked, and Ciel could have sworn he saw a trace of discomfort pass over the man's face.

"Yes," Sebastian answered, with a smile.

"Hm."

Sebastian looked over at Ciel with a question, and Ciel shook his head slightly. "Well, that will be all, I think," Sebastian said, taking a package that the man handed him. "Thank you very much."

They stepped back out of the store, Ciel blinking at the sudden sunlight that drifted into his eyes. The boys who he had talked to were on the other side of the road again, playing with hoops and sticks. They looked over when the two stepped out. "Hey, you coming?" one yelled, waving.

"Yeah!" Ciel said, waving back. He turned slightly toward Sebastian, so that they could not see him speak. "It seems we've been invited to dinner with one of the village families."

"And you believe this will prove a fruitful means of investigation?" Sebastian said, under his breath, as he helped Ciel into the cart.

"I do," Ciel said. He huffed a laugh. "If nothing else, it should prove _fruitful_. Apparently this woman makes the best apple pie in the village."


	2. Chapter 2

"Welcome! Oh, how do you do!" The aforementioned woman greeted them with a beaming smile as Henry and the quiet blonde slipped their way into the house. "Hey, you two!" she said, as they ran. "Wash up before dinner, you hear?"

"Yes, mum!" the boys chorused.

"I'm Louisa," she continued, as she ushered them into a small, low-beamed dining room set behind the kitchen. It was windowless, with a wall panel door left half-open, leading to a set of narrow stairs over which the boys' feet could be heard running. There was hardly the space for the table that was wedged into it. Despite the size, everything was clean; the table was covered with a shining white cloth of handmade lace that looked as though it had been passed down through the generations, and the oil lamps on the sideboard cast a cheery glow through the room. "We don't get many visitors around these parts," Louisa continued, "(You can sit on this side)—so travelers passing through are always a treat. It's a great honor, sir."

"Feel free to call me Sebastian," Sebastian replied, with a charming smile, as he slid himself into the bench along one wall.

"And you?" the woman asked, turning to Ciel.

"Ciel. Very nice to meet you, ma'am."

"Ah, such good manners you have!" Louisa chuckled. "My own children could learn a thing or two from you. D'you hear that?" she called, louder.

"Yes, mum," the boys shouted, as they clattered their way down the stairs again and shoved into seats across from Ciel and Sebastian. A minute later a more dignified step followed them down, and a young woman who seemed clearly the older sister of the two took her place demurely. "Quiet down, you two," she admonished. "We have guests."

"Sorry, sis." The two boys stopped fidgeting, but kept casting glances each other's way. The young lady sighed.

"It's a pleasure to meet you two," she said, with a smile, although something about it didn't seem at ease. Was it only an ordinary worry? Exasperation at her siblings' behaviour? No, Ciel decided, watching her more closely. It was more than that. She seemed abstracted, as though something was weighing heavily on her mind. She was wearing what seemed to be her Sunday best, although it wasn't Sunday, and her hair had been freshly washed and curled.

They made introductions—the young woman, whose name was Mabel, seemed to be making the effort to converse. "Is there something I ought to congratulate you on?" Sebastian said, nodding toward her attire, and she blushed. "Oh, no—" she said. "I'm afraid not. Nothing… of that sort." Her brothers were watching her; Henry with something close to pride; the other with that same frustrated anger.

"Yet there is obviously some reason that today is special," Sebastian said.

"Well…" Mabel faltered. "You're guests, of course. I've never met a gentleman before, so… I know this isn't much by your standards, but I don't wish to make a bad impression."

 _That's a lie_ , Ciel thought. _She's too obviously uncertain… not flustered by our presence, because she had no issue speaking before Sebastian asked her this particular question._

He looked over at Sebastian from the corner of his eye. _Have you noticed that too_? he thought. The table hid his and Sebastian's hands from sight, and he moved his over slightly to bump into Sebastian's gloved hand, silently spelling out his question with taps and brushes of his finger.

"You've done nothing of the sort," Sebastian said, gently. "Your whole family has been very hospitable."

"Thank you," Mabel said.

 _'quite so, young master'_ , Sebastian said, turning Ciel's hand over to reply. _'And this was no last-minute decision, for her. The dress has been pressed, and those curls require one to sleep on them in rags. Whatever event she has prepared for, she's known of it since yesterday, at the latest_.'

Eventually, the father arrived, Louise following in after. At their entrance, the boys became suddenly capable of politeness, sitting motionless and calm, while Mabel closed her mouth and gave Sebastian one last, wan smile before looking down at her plate.

Ciel sat quietly as was expected as the family said grace: _We give thanks, now, to our Protector, who gives us this bounty to enjoy_ … it was hedged about fairly well, Ciel thought, with a standard form, but he noticed the anomaly. ' _they don't mention the Lord's name at all,_ ' he said.

_'Yes.'_

Louisa brought in the food, and they all began to eat, passing the dishes around. The father, unfortunately, was not a particularly brilliant conversationalist, and asked Sebastian only a few questions that hardly lead into more interesting avenues, while answering Sebastian's own questions without saying much of anything in return. Ciel's mind wandered, in the long silences, and while he surreptitiously watched the others at the table, he thought how lucky _they_ had been, then; before _that month_. It was a fleeting thought, and caught him quite by surprise. When he had only been _him_ , and Ciel was still alive, there had been many nights where they would join their parents for dinner; but Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive had always been of the persuasion that dinner ought to be a place for discussion, even with their children, and had asked them questions enough, and encouraged conversation, always seeming to know before even they did when one of them wanted leave to speak. It might have been like this instead, Ciel thought. The endless tedium of sitting and waiting rather reminded him of being in church. Of course, there was the food to consider: baked minced mutton with potatoes and gravy, and glazed carrots; and when dinner was over, the cloth taken up, and dessert served, Ciel had two pieces of pie, and decided, with appreciation, that Louisa's reputation as the best apple-pie-maker in the village was well deserved indeed.

* * *

The sitting room, which might have been a touch smaller than the dining room, still managed to feel more open; it had two windows, a rocking chair or two, and a thick rug that Ciel felt very tempted to sit down on. Before he had gotten well into the room, however, Louisa took him aside. "You can go up and play with the boys, if you like," she said with a smile.

"Thank you," Ciel replied. He felt that the person he ought to question at this time was Mabel, but she had already left the sitting room; he thought he caught a glimpse of her in the kitchen, drying dishes. Let Sebastian deal with the father, he thought; and slipped quietly up the dining room stair, pulling the panel almost shut behind him. He looked up toward the top of the stairs. He could hear the two boys talking, the sound muffled; neither seemed to have heard him enter the stairwell and pull the door close. He sank down upon the lowest step. It was hardly wide enough for him and—another person his own size, to sit crushed abreast, but it felt a large, empty space, sitting there alone, listening with all his might as Louisa and Mabel walked in and out of the dining room, bringing back the plates and washing down the table. He did not want to play with the boys upstairs, but the sounds of their merriment still sent him into an odd melancholy.

At last the steps in and out of the dining room seemed to have ceased, and Ciel pushed the door open a crack. Through the dining room, the doorway to the kitchen was open and he could see Louisa and Mabel cleaning up. He took a breath to steel himself, and let the panel swing open a little more. It moved soundlessly, and in another moment, he'd stood up and slipped his way out of the stairwell, back into the dining room. He got down on his knees and crawled under the table. It didn't afford as much of a barrier as he would have liked, with the cloth off, but the row of chairs on the far end would hopefully be enough to break up his image. He moved slowly, feeling his way over the carved wooden legs that connected, with a flourish, in loops toward the center of the space, until he had gotten as close to the other end of the table as he could. Then he curled up, his arms around his knees, staring out with slow, shallow breath. He could make out what they were saying now, barely; though sometimes individual words were muffled by the clang of a dish or pan or the rush of water.

"I don't like it, mum," Mabel said.

For a long moment there was no answer.

"Hand me that plate, would you?" Louisa asked at last, and finally continued, in a subdued tone, "it's a blessing to have one of ours spared, isn't it?" Louisa said. "Oh, in my heart of hearts how can I wish but that it had been a couple instead? If it weren't for the boys, you know I would take your place."

"No," Mabel replied. "I could never ask you to do that for me. Call it selfish, but you're my mother…"

"And you're my daughter, Mabel. My only one."

Another dish was passed. Ciel could see their feet, side by side, through the door; both working at the counter; companionable, the way the kitchen servants had worked before _that day_ , before the house became empty…

"But… the child—Ciel?" Mabel said. "What about him? Are we to steal his father from him? It doesn't sit right with me at all. Let me speak to Gibson and ask him to do his duty. We can let the travelers go, this year."

"George is getting married. I don't think he'll be interested, Mabel." Louisa sighed. "But do what you feel is right. I won't stop you."

"Thank you, mum," Mabel replied. Ciel could see her feet spinning on the floor as she leaned close, hugging her mother. The mother made a small, muffled noise that might have been a laugh or a sob.

"Best be quick, though—dusk will come sooner than you think, and if you're not back by then—"

"Of course," Mabel replied in a low voice. "I'll be back in good time. Don't worry."

Louisa put a pot into the sink and turned the water onto full blast, shooing Mabel away as she slipped off down the front hall, putting on her shoes hastily and pulling the front door shut slowly behind her. Ciel knew it was time to move—he crawled back under the table toward the far wall and the staircase, standing up to slip behind the panel and closing it fully shut behind him with a click, before walking quietly up the stairs.

* * *

Henry and his brother stopped talking and looked his way, startled out of a heated debate, as he stepped out of the upstairs hall into the partitioned attic-space in which they had been sitting amid the little remains of the autumn's harvest; gourds, round and curling, and piles of nuts.

"Did I interrupt something?" Ciel asked. The younger brother looked down at his hands. Henry smiled at him, tightly.

"No, don't worry. We weren't doing anything much up here, but you're welcome to join."

"So," Ciel said, as he sat down across from them, meeting each face in turn. "When were you going to tell me you were planning to make us human sacrifices?"

"What?" Henry jumped to his feet. "What d'ye think you're talking about?"

"That's what's going on, isn't it?" Ciel said. "Your village takes in unsuspecting travelers, and drags them off to sacrifice to whatever 'protector' it is you worship. I understand that part. What I don't understand is why you would let your sister go through with it as well."

The brothers looked at each other, hardly knowing what do say. Finally, the younger brother responded.

"That's what I've been trying to tell them. We shouldn't let her do it. Oh, but Mabel won't listen—it's her duty! And you're just _proud_ …" he'd jumped up too, now, and was yelling into his brother's face.

"How did he find out?" Henry said, darkly. They both turned toward him, and moved, slowly, his way, until they had covered the exit. Ciel stared back. The air between them was cold with menace and unspoken threat, but still, no one moved.

"It's really very obvious, if you just look and listen," Ciel said quietly, looking back at them with a solemn face, not letting their intimidation touch him.

"If you let her go through with this, you'll regret it."

"Says you," Henry said scornfully. "You wouldn't understand. She's doing this for _us_ , to take care of the town. What do you know, living in your fancy house, not wanting for anything… you've probably never even thought about what it takes to support someone."

"You're right," Ciel said. "I have no one to support, only the people that live on my land and depend on me to help them if they're ever in need. Oh, that doesn't count? What about this: I know how you'll feel, because I had a brother." He looked into their shocked faces, and almost quailed at the sound of those words hitting the air, resounding hollowly. He knew this might be the only way to convince them, but for a moment, he couldn't speak, all he could think was, _my brother. Oh, Ciel…_ once again, there was only that room, and his brother's form lying unmoving on the altar, the blood that pooled from his stomach and underneath him and dripped its way, shining, down the sides, the slick and slippery feel of it, and his sightless eyes.

 _That's not him_ , he told himself, again. _That's me. I don't have to say anything. I'm not here. I'm dead._ This _is 'him.' This is Ciel Phantomhive, and I will do whatever it takes to complete this mission._

"We were taken together to be sacrificed to a cult not unlike yours," he continued, at last, in a steady voice. He almost laughed at the blatant lie—whatever evil this village was involved in, it was nothing like _that cult_. But these brothers didn't need to know that.

"We're not a cult—" Henry said.

"We were kidnapped," Ciel continued, inexorably, watching the two shift uncomfortably. "Taken against our will. And my brother was chosen to be the sacrifice. I tried to stop it, I tried…" he clenched his hands in the bunched-up edges of his coat, stared down at his knees and tried to stop himself from shaking. "What could I do? Nothing. All I could do was sit there and _watch_. Yes," he looked up again, his eyes blazing. "I had to sit and watch them strike a dagger into my brother's heart. I was there the whole time they tried to appease their own 'protector.' If you had to watch every moment of your sister's life seeping into the ground—if you had to hear her last breath and think, _it is because of me that she is dying_ , would you really be so quick to do so? If you would, then I have nothing more to say to you." He stood up, and almost stumbled at the way he knees seemed to have forgotten how to stand. He put out one hand toward the wall and took one step toward the stairs, and then another.

"Wait—" it was the younger brother who had spoken. "What are we supposed to do?" Ciel looked back, saw that familiar helpless anger, the anger that would clutch at anything; that, he could use. There was nothing he was more familiar with.

He smiled grimly. "I have a plan," he said. "But I'll need your help."


	3. Chapter 3

"It seems that our path out of here leads through the orchard," Sebastian said. The day had stolen away, and everything had already gone grey and shadowed with twilight. A terrible time to leave, Ciel thought—but he supposed the village would have its ways for making sure that anyone who passed through ended up in the right place at dusk, some more… _persuasive_ than others.

"Hm. Not a surprise," Ciel said. As he spoke, he began to unwrap the package that still lay in the back of the cart, beside a lumpy tarp: a new oil lamp and matches.

Sebastian took up the reins and began to lead the cart through the village street and into the shadow of the trees. A hush began to fall, as they got farther from the main road, a palpable, waiting quiet; broken only by the whickering of the horses, the soft thud of hooves on the path, the creak of the carriage wheels. The way was straight, straight through the heart of the orchard, and in the evening, nothing moved.

The silence of the place drew out; the lights of the village fading away behind them, and the carriage at last rolled to a complete stop, the horses unwilling to step any further. Before them, through the orchard which had crept so slowly closer along either side of the path until the whole road petered out into nothing, was a high, crooked figure, strung up between the trees. The limbs were stretched grotesquely out, the sackcloth head bowed under its bowler hat. It was covered in what might have been clothes once, but the tattered patches were so ripped and ruined that the black rags seemed more like a shroud.

Fog stole its way in from all sides, filling the long rows between the trees. In the sudden cold, Ciel saw his breath mist itself into the air.

He took Sebastian's hand to step out of the cart, before walking closer to the looming figure. "So this is your protector," he said. "What do you think it is?" Though it had no eyes, it seemed to stare down at him with a palpable sense that it was aware, and watching him. "A ghost?"

"Not a ghost," Sebastian said. "A nature god, I would say rather. A minor spirit of some sort."

Behind them, the lumpy tarp began to stir, and two heads poked out, before, at last, Henry and his brother hopped down and walked to join Ciel and Sebastian. They shivered, and looked around.

"It's worse when it's dark like this," Henry said quietly.

"Well," Ciel said, rubbing his hands together to warm them and blowing into them. "Destroying that scarecrow seems to be as good a place as any, to start. Sebastian?"

Sebastian watched him, anticipating.

"Take it down."

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian answered, bowing slightly with a hand to his heart. He leaped forward—Ciel turned around at the sound of rustling behind him, pulling his gun from his pocket and holding it shakingly out in front of him. When he saw who it was, he relaxed, lowering it a fraction.

"Oh, it's you."

Mabel looked around in confusion. "What… what are you all doing here?" she asked. "Brothers, why did you bring him…"

"We're here to bring you back."

Mabel shook her head. "What are you talking about? You can't. This isn't the time… we already said our goodbyes…"

Her younger brother stepped forward. "I never did," he said. "I'm not ready to say my goodbyes, and I never wanted you to sacrifice yourself for me."

"That's not your choice to make," Mabel said.

"I'm afraid it is," Ciel replied. "We've had a long talk, you see, and they've decided that they aren't ready to lose you just yet. So come along."

"Ciel?—what are you doing?" she seemed to notice the gun for the first time.

"Threatening you. Come on. Into the cart—and drive back, if you would," Ciel said, waving her over. He could hear crashing and snarling behind him, but he resisted the urge to look behind him.

"Wait, you don't understand," Mabel said, though she followed his instructions. Her brothers scrambled up behind her in the cart, and she looked back at them pleadingly.

"I understand enough. Drive," Ciel added, amiably, putting the gun close to her temple. She swallowed and looked him in the eyes, tearfully, but took up the reins.

"It won't work, you know," she said. "I'll never get out of here. The Protector will take me."

"Will it?"

"Yes. It's our bargain, you see—to keep our village prosperous, our wells full and our trees healthy, our marriages blessed, our people safe from illness… all it asks is a sacrifice. If I chose to be that, does it really matter?" She took a shaking breath, then continued. "Ciel, I'm sorry," she said. "I tried to convince the other villagers, but… your father is meant to be the other half of the sacrifice," she finished in a whisper. "Believe me, if it could be any other way… I didn't want to orphan a child. I couldn't imagine if my brothers…" she looked back at them again. "I'm doing this for you," she said, frustrated. "Don't you understand? For your futures."

"I don't care!"

She flinched back, while her younger brother continued. "I just want you, Sis. Other towns get along without a Protector, don't they? So can we!"

Mabel laughed shortly. "Is that what he told you?"

 _I'm doing this for them_. For a moment, Ciel almost felt sympathy for the girl. She might be misguided, but she only wanted to take care of her family… and with the power of the Protector, she _could_. But he shook off the feeling. "Don't worry," Ciel said, with a cold smile. "My father is already dead, and it was not of your doing. Of that sin, at least, you are clean."

"What do you mean?"

The horses reared. Mabel lost her grip on the reins as the cart shuddered to a stop, and Ciel grabbed onto the edge with one hand, the other clutched around his gun as he fell sideways. In the back of the cart, her brothers slid to the side and held onto each other, peering out ahead. Before them, on the path, the scarecrow loomed suddenly from the fog. It swung ponderously this way and that, zeroing ever closer on Mabel before somehow grabbing onto her, pulling her bodily from the cart and toward the ground. Blood bloomed on her arm and she screamed, her voice being joined by the sounds of her brother's. "Stop it! Stop!" Ciel scrambled to his feet again, taking aim and shooting toward the scarecrow's head. One shot, then another—nothing. The bullets burst through the scarecrow, scattering straw behind it, but didn't stop it from standing, and dragging its claws into Mabel. The boys behind him were crying. One had jumped out of the cart. _Damn it,_ Ciel thought. _I told them to stay put!_

"Sebastian, where are you?" Ciel shouted.

"Right here," Sebastian answered, with a smile, appearing from the empty air behind the scarecrow. It turned, and loomed toward him. Sebastian punched it, his hand going through the tattered rags and leaving arcs of straw floating through the air behind it. The fog grew thicker around them, until all Ciel could see of the fight was dark shadows, darting here and there. He scrambled out of the carriage and to Mabel, who was still lying on the ground.

"Can you move?" he asked. She opened her eyes, moaning a little, and sat up, her face going pale at the sight of her mangled arm.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Please, just go."

"Sorry," Ciel said. "I can't. I was ordered to stop the incidents of missing persons. If your village had kept to volunteers in your own people, you might still be able to exist, but the moment you became the Queen's problem, you became mine. I need to stop this sacrifice from going through."

The scarecrow flickered back behind her; Sebastian at its heels. It seemed distracted in the moment it grabbed her—Ciel raised his gun instinctively toward its head, now pulled half-open, its stuffing swinging from the half-empty bag. Sebastian crushed the pole serving as its spine. Then its claws came out again—it dropped the girl and tore its way through Sebastian's neck, leaving streaks of red blood. Sebastian swayed on his feet, and fell.

"Sebastian!" Ciel screamed. He ran over, heedless of the scarecrow that swung ponderously back over to Mabel, or her brothers, rushing toward her side. His footsteps cracked through the frosted grass; he came to stand before his fallen butler and then fell to his knees.

He's fine, Ciel thought. He's fine… Isn't he?

Sebastian's eyes were glowing red. The temperature around them plummeted, and then rose again; in another moment Sebastian dragged himself to a sitting position, his neck still torn open, the insides dripping and wet.

"Don't worry, young master," he said calmly, smiling down at Ciel. Ciel stared up at him, unblinking. Blood poured down over Sebastian's suit as he moved; the flap of his throat swung back and forth. "I shall deal with the scarecrow, if you will deal with the seat of its power."

"That's not… the seat?" Ciel gasped.

"If it were," Sebastian said grimly, "it wouldn't still be so powerful after having been injured by myself. But the scarecrow seems to be only its way of moving in the world. No… the seat… will be something else." He stood, and fixed his eyes, glowing in the dark, toward the scarecrow and the girl.

"But it's still here somewhere?" Ciel called after him.

"Yes," Sebastian replied. "It's here."

Ciel looked around. He could feel that Sebastian's words were true: there was something _powerful_ about this place, a lingering heaviness. But what could it be attached to? There was nothing that stood out as having some significance—only trees, and more trees.

He walked back to the cart and climbed up, feeling around in the back for the lantern Sebastian had bought. There was a box of matches around somewhere, but it had gotten tossed into a corner. He scrambled around for what seemed like forever, not daring to look up, not knowing what had happened in the fight. The tearing sounds continued, worse because he could not see it. The fog was now so thick that he could hardly see his hand at the end of his arm. But at last he found the box. He opened it, and struck a match; with that between his fingers he found the lantern and just managed to light it. He turned the key and watched the fire flare up.

_I just have to destroy it._

Ciel poured some of the oil out in a small puddle on the cart, and set the lantern back down. Then he lit another match, letting it fall into the spilled oil. It flickered, but didn't die. He struck another match, and another, and let those fall as well, and then poured the rest of the matches into the pile. The fire began in earnest. It wouldn't last long, Ciel thought; but perhaps just long enough.

The horses had noticed the fire, and they ran wildly, trying to get away from the source of the flame. Ciel climbed up into the front of the seat, holding onto the reins more to keep from being thrown than to steer. The cart crashed through the orchard while the flames got higher. It won't last, Ciel thought again. If the scarecrow didn't notice the possibility of danger—or if it didn't care—the flames might go out entirely before burning anything other than the oil and maybe some of the cart. He tore off his necktie and threw it into the pile, watching the flames as it began to eat the thin ribbon.

It appeared, out of nowhere, staring down at Ciel. Its claws reached out, and Ciel screamed.

"Young master!" Sebastian appeared in between him and the scarecrow, shielding him from its claws. Ciel grabbed onto Sebastian's thick coat, and felt droplets of blood fall onto his hands from the gashes that covered Sebastian's skin.

"Get Mabel and her brothers," Ciel hissed. "Tell them she'd better bloody tell me which tree to burn!"

"Ah…" Sebastian said, with a proud smile. "A tree! Of course."

He disappeared, and Ciel rolled out of the scarecrow's way. Its claws struck forward again; but he crawled closer to the flames, and it retreated, unwilling to be burned. Sebastian reappeared again, this time holding Mabel in one arm and the two boys in the other.

"What… what is that?" she said, staring at Sebastian.

Ciel followed her gaze. _He really isn't at his best,_ he thought. At the moment, there wasn't much to choose from between him and the scarecrow.

"Something you really don't want to anger," Ciel said. "Now apparently there's a place in this orchard that's special—a tree perhaps? And that scarecrow over there doesn't want us to find it. But I'll bet you know where it is."

Henry glared at him. "You said there was nothing in the gun—you showed us!"

Ciel sighed. "There wasn't when I showed it to you… do you really think I'd come out here to face an angry spirit without some kind of weapon?"

"You might've shot Mabel!"

"I didn't!" Ciel said.

"I don't think you really care about her, like you said… and I'm not so sure you were telling the truth about _anything else_ , either."

"I won't tell you," Mabel answered, staring him down.

"Come now," Ciel said, desperately, staring at the three siblings arrayed before him, suddenly stone-faced and unyielding. "Don't be difficult. Do you really want everyone in the village to be beholden to _that_?"

Mabel looked at the scarecrow, which was still fighting Sebastian, and her hand went to her arm unconsciously. When she spoke, her voice was hardly a whisper. "It's just angry…"

"It'll be more than angry, Mabel, if you don't help me. Even if it kills you, it won't get the sacrifice it wants. Sebastian isn't going to die…" Ciel waved a careless hand in his direction. "That's one half of the sacrifice gone right there. These kinds of creatures work on deals; one thing for another; sacrifice for blessing. How angry do you think it'll be without that? All those wells? They'll go dry, I suppose. The trees will begin to rot. Those marriages…? Ditto. And what about illnesses? I'm sure it can call up a plague as easily as prevent one…"

Mabel swallowed, and looked at him, finally. "Damn you," she said. "Damn you, fine. The tree…"

"Mabel," Henry said. "Don't tell him."

She shook her head. "I have to," she said. "He's right. Maybe this is a chance, anyhow. If we do this, no one will have to sacrifice themselves… or be forced to," she added.

"It's an honor, isn't it?" Henry said, though he sounded uncertain.

His brother spoke up. " _Mr. Gibson_ didn't think so. Or he'd be here instead of the stranger, wouldn't he? Doing his part."

His brother looked away.

"It's over there," Mabel said, pointing.

The cart shuddered as Ciel tugged sharply on the reins, shuddered and then crashed sideways into the tree. The fire flew up between the spokes and the broken boards; the horses whinnied in fear, their eyes rolling back. Sebastian appeared, catching Ciel as he went flying. Mabel and her brothers were tossed out of the carriage; he couldn't see what happened to them.

The scarecrow appeared over the cart with a noise like bones cracking.

"Sebastian—" Ciel said, looking up at Sebastian through the haze of fog and flame, "Get the others free, and then… make sure the tree burns…"

* * *

Everything had become incoherent and far away. He must have passed out for a moment, because the next he knew he was shivering in the sudden cold, pressed against his butler's side as Sebastian carried him. Behind him, he could hear a familiar, crackling roar; though the only thing he could see before him was the front of Sebastian's coat and, beyond that, the huddled town, flaring up with lights from every window as villagers rushed past them in a crazed panic, weeping, screaming, or standing with shocked faces that glowed white in the unnatural light. He knew that behind them, the whole orchard must be ablaze. At last, he realized where they were going, and he looked out to see the family crowded around the front doorstep; Mabel was being cradled in her mother's arms, one arm hanging unnaturally from her side, splattered with darkness; the father a silent presence in the background. For a moment, Ciel feared she was dead, before he noticed her slow breathing.

Sebastian came to a stop in front of the group and Ciel stared at them silently. "Sebastian," he said at last, slowly, "where are the brothers?"

Sebastian stepped by the group, past the swathe of light from the open doorway. Lying on the grass, holding each other as if in sleep, were the two brothers.

"I got them free of the flames, as you ordered, master," Sebastian said quietly.

"Why… why aren't they moving?" Ciel said, his voice shaking.

"They died when they were thrown out of the carriage."

"No," Ciel said. He pulled away, and Sebastian let go of him slowly so that he could finally stand, and walk, stumbling, toward the two bodies. "No!" he said. His legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed on the damp grass, close enough from them to touch. He couldn't look away. _If I hadn't brought them into this,_ he thought. _If I hadn't… they would still be alive…_

"Mabel will live," Sebastian said, gently, behind him. "A doctor has been sent for, and with care, she should recover almost completely, though I am afraid her hand might be unusable."

"I don't care about that!" Ciel snapped.

"Really? I thought that was your purpose? To destroy the protector, and thus save the life of the sacrificial victims?"

"Not if… if I…"

"Really," Sebastian said, "I must commend you. They had to know the danger, yet they followed you without hesitation. I was not in the house when you spoke to them—I was tracking Mabel's movements as she visited the man who was to be sacrifice if I hadn't come along. What did you say to convince them?"

"…Nothing," Ciel said. "It's not important. It's nothing." He was shivering. It was cold.

"You succeeded in your mission," Sebastian said, gently.

"Yes," Ciel said. He stood up, at last, and did not resist when Sebastian wrapped him in his coat. "I want to go home," he said, in a small voice. There was a terrible, choked lump in his throat, and yet, as it had been for so long now, his eyes stayed dry.

* * *

Ciel woke in his own bed. Everything about him ached; his arms and legs and even his middle, and his wrists felt bruised and sore; and even though he was wearing a nightgown and not his ruined clothes, he could still smell flames, smoke and char seemed to be seared into his hair. He blinked, and then remembered what had happened.

"Sebastian!" he said, sitting up, to find Sebastian standing beside his bed with a tray of tea. The butler was impeccable as always; Ciel found himself searching his skin for any sign of the injuries he had sustained, though he knew he would find nothing.

"Pardon me, young master," Sebastian said. "I forewent a bath last night, as you seemed quite overcome with exhaustion, and I didn't want to risk waking you."

"Oh… fine… that's fine."

Sebastian poured the tea, holding the pot within his gloved hands. It made a soothing noise as the steaming liquid filled the cup, and Ciel took hold of it thankfully, looking down at the reflective surface.

"How did we get back…?"

"Teleportation," Sebastian replied. "I understand it may bring up some questions, but… on the other hand, our cart had been destroyed. The horses are being taken care of by some of the villagers, and miss Mabel is recuperating in her family's home. The doctor has seconded my assessment, and said that she has a very good chance of living. Everyone in the village was in too much of a state of shock to think of questioning us, only trying to quench the flames. It was far too late for that, of course. Their protective spirit had already been thoroughly driven out, and the deal that they had kept for so long had been broken."

"Yes…" Ciel said. He took a sip of his tea, and took the paper that Sebastian presented for him without reading it.

"Are you feeling quite all right?" Sebastian said, with a slightly curious tone.

Am I all right? Ciel thought. The last night seemed very far away, those bodies, lying together on the ground, seemed more like a nightmare than anything real. He was glad, suddenly, that it had been dark—that he hadn't been able to look in their faces, to see their accusing eyes staring back at him.

"I only wonder," he said casually, "if it's possible for a deal to be forcibly broken in such a manner, from outside…"

"That deal is nothing like ours," Sebastian said, reassuringly. He smiled. "I, and I alone, hold the deed to our contract."

"Good," Ciel said. He scanned a line, sighed, and gave up, folding the paper beside him. "I hope this case at least brings me recognition. I don't see what else it's really done."

"Destroyed a menace to the general public?" Sebastian questioned.

Ciel scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. More people die in London each day from perfectly ordinary causes. No… this was nothing but a show of my worth." He frowned. "I hope the Queen doesn't mind losing a producer of apples. Without those orchards… and their 'Protector'… there's nothing to keep the town alive. It was a shoddy business all around."

He didn't regret destroying the spirit, or driving it out, or whatever it was he and Sebastian had done. He'd done his duty; and he couldn't condone the practices those villagers had got up to. But on the other hand… He thought of Mabel's words. It had been a very practical deal, for years. The spirit had provided for them, giving bounty and protection, and asking for hardly anything in return. He thought her brothers, playing on the street—well-fed, happy, and safe enough, as these things went; without worry for their family's livelihood. And then he had come along, and in one fell instant, he had taken all that away.

He felt for his thumb with one hand, unconsciously, but there was nothing there. Without thinking, he glanced over at the dressing table, where that ring shone blue, the last remainder of another one who had died because of him; Sebastian followed his gaze. The blue stone seemed to glow, casting an uncanny weight throughout the room.

"Ah," Sebastian said. "I see."

"Don't presume," Ciel said, cuttingly. "It was simply a waste of time; that's all."

_The End_


End file.
